Tomatoes and Pasta and Wurst
by Kishiro Kitsune
Summary: A collection of stories centering around the Beilschmidt-Vargas, Carriedo-Vargas, and Edelstein-Héderváry families. Oh, and Onkel Prussia too. First up, a little training session with Germany's family.
1. 1 Training with GermanyItaly

A collection of stories centering around the Beilschmidt-Vargas, Carriedo-Vargas, and Edelstein-Héderváry families. Oh, and _Onkel_ Prussia too.

Part of 'The Rising Generation'. Shouldn't need to read any of the one-shots of the series to understand this.

Warnings: Hmmm... possible mentions of mpreg, but nothing detailed. You could probably get through this imagining the kids are adopted if you really wanted.

**Tomatoes and Pasta and Wurst**

_1. Training_

Germany proudly stood back and watched his family diligently run laps around the track he reserved for training that day.

There was his second daughter-Sofia, the personification of Saxony-with her coppery brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and her bangs fringed just under her eyebrows. She ran ahead of everyone, her long legs carrying her quickly and effortlessly, arms pumping in rhythm. She wore clothing he greatly approved of; cargo pants and a sleeveless green turtleneck of a lightweight material, along with a pair of sturdy boots.

Not far behind her was his youngest child and only son-Friedrich, the personification of Berlin. His blond hair was cut into a style reminiscent of Prussia's, only longer. Blue eyes stared straight ahead, focused and on tasked for the most part. Every now and then he'd glance around or stop to wave at one of his sister's or beloved mamma.

Germany smiled. His son had grown so much during the year he spent with Prussia in the eastern part of his country.

His eyes slid to the slow moving form of his lover, who looked as though he were about ready to collapse though he'd done little more than walk two laps on the track. After many, many years of dealing with the rather frustrating Italian, he was just thankful he wasn't rolling around in the grass, playing with cats or taking a siesta. In fact, he was pretty sure he saw him jog a few steps with Berlin.

There was someone missing.

Normally, there was a sunshine-blonde in a pink dress who worked at an even slower pace than her mamma, often getting distracted and wandering off. She was Dafne, the personification of Sardinia, and the oldest of his children.

Germany looked around, eventually finding her napping peacefully on the grassy embankment with a blue-colored chick nestled between her breasts, undisturbed by her breathing. He would have been relieved to see her in something other than a dress for training, had she not been wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top with flowery designs.

He heaved a sigh and then marched over to her. "Sardinia," he said sternly.

The girl slept on, only disturbed when her Vater's shadow passed onto her face. With a mumble of complaint, sleepy amber eyes blinked open. "Hmmm…?"

"Dafne," Germany said, his tone less harsh than before. "Why aren't you training?"

Dafne yawned as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The blue chick (who actually belonged to Berlin) chirped in complaint and settled in her lap. "It was time for siesta, Vater. And it's too hot out to run." She pointed behind him. "Look! Mamma's taking a siesta too!"

Germany whirled around, immediately spotting his lover curled up in the grass with a white-and-brown cat sprawled out next to him. His gaze softened as he watched the slumbering brunet and the utterly peaceful expression on his face. Really, he couldn't be too angry with Italy. Not when he'd actually jogged without being under the threat of no pasta for dinner.

When he looked back at his daughter, he found her fast asleep once again. He watched her for a moment with an unreadable expression and then walked away to join his wonderfully hardworking German children in running laps.

It wasn't long before they were interrupted.

"Hey, West! Look who Hungary's letting me watch for the evening!"

Germany's running came to a halt as Prussia joined them with a pretty, dark-haired girl on his back. Gilbird was perched quite happily on her head and she was giggling as she clung to the Prussian's neck to keep from falling.

Unease washed over Germany. "_Bruder_, why do you have Athala?"

Athala Katarina Edelstein was the only daughter of Austria and Hungary, though she resembled her father much more than her mother with her straight black hair and purplish-red eyes. In fact, the only things she seemed to have inherited from the Hungarian was her sense of style and her long hair.

"Huh?" Prussia blinked in confusion for a moment before he smirked. "Oh! Specs went and got himself lost again so Hungary had to go find him. I was just minding my own business when she pushed Birdie here towards me and said to watch her. Then I remembered you're having a training day and brought her here so she can spend some time with Berlin!"

At hearing his name called, Berlin paused in the midst of stretching to get up and jog over to them. His blue eyes lit up in delight when he saw the girl. "Vienna!"

"Berlin!" She happily replied, just as excited.

Prussia set her down and watched as she ran over to his nephew, immediately hugging his legs. "Damn, she's a cute little thing. Don't you think, West?"

As Berlin invited her to train with him, Germany grudgingly nodded in agreement. She was rather cute. And oddly enough, she seemed more than happy to exercise with Berlin, something Austria avoided in favor of playing piano. Maybe she was more like Hungary than he originally believed.

"Does Hungary know you took her from Austria's house?" Germany asked.

Prussia shrugged. "Prob'ly not. But she knows I have her! It's not like I stole her or something. If she wants to know where we're at, she can call you."

Germany was not at all pleased with the response. "_Bruder, _call her before she comes charging in here and beats you even senselesser."

"Ahh, relax, West. Hungary knows I'll take care of Birdie. After all, I took care of Berlin for a whole year and he's just fine!"

"_Berlin_ is not a five-year-old girl."

"She's seven," Prussia corrected. "You losing your memory in your old age or something, West?"

Germany glared at him. "My memory is fine. Call Hungary."

Prussia grumbled to himself as he retrieved his well-loved phone from his back pocket. He flipped it open, waiting a few seconds for the screen to light up. When it didn't, he smacked the back of it and smirked when it finally came on. "Kesesesese…"

Germany rolled his eyes at his brothers antics. What else could he do?

After several long minutes, most of which Prussia spent slamming his phone around to get it to do what he wanted, he finally got in touch with Hungary. "Hey, West's being all unawesome and paranoid and shit and made me call to tell you I brought Birdie with me. She's training with Berlin right now." He glanced over at the pair and grinned when he saw that his nieces had joined the two. "Saxony and Sardinia are cooing over her now. Or Sardinia is. Saxony's more like West, so she's probably not squealing over her cuteness."

Hungary said something that made Prussia laugh loudly.

"Nah, I don't think that's gonna happen. Hey, you found Specs yet?" He listened for a moment. "Damn, well hurry up and find the idiot. Yeah, I'll make sure Athala doesn't wander off. You worry too damn much. I'm too awesome to let that happen!" His smile vanished and was replaced with a scowl. "That doesn't count. You lose him more often than I do! Just find him. I'll be here with West." He slammed the cell phone shut before Hungary could say another word.

"_Bruder,_ is something wrong?" Germany asked.

"No," Prussia snapped in reply. "I'm gonna go run with the kids. You go wake up Italy or something."

Germany watched his brother run off, wondering what the Hungarian woman said to make him so annoyed.

He wasn't sure when things became the way they were between his brother, Hungary, and Austria. There were times when they seemed to get along just fine, though Prussia's constant taunting of Austria grated on the pianists nerves. Hungary didn't bash Prussia over the head with a frying pan nearly as often as she did in the past. He supposed his brother was finally mellowing out. Or, more likely, Hungary was growing tired of the effort it took to beat him into oblivion only to have him come back the next day and do the same thing all over again.

Whether or not Prussia got along with Hungary was like flipping a coin. One toss and he'd be just fine, laughing along with whatever she was saying. A second toss and they'd still be chatting happily. But then a third toss would come along and they'd be at each others throats over the stupidest of things. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it had to do with Austria.

Germany shook his head and began walking over to Italy. He wasn't up for analyzing the relationship between his brother and the other two countries. He was just willing to leave it at both of them being in love with Austria and Hungary once again winning his heart. Though with Athala around, things were probably going to be much different than they were with their political marriage.

"Ve~ Prussia looks sad."

Germany sat down in the grass next to his lover, careful not to slide around and get streaks of grass stains all over his pants. "He brought Vienna with him."

Italy sat up and looked over at them with a cheery smile. "Aww, how cute! Ve~ Germany, Germany!"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we'll ever have another?"

Germany stared down at the Italian in surprise. "We already have three. Do you really want another baby?"

Italy hummed thoughtfully, looking away from Prussia and the kids. "It might be fun. I miss having a little kid running around the house. Berlin's already sixteen! It won't be long before he moves out…"

Seeing the beginning of tears welling up in Italy's sweet amber eyes, Germany wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, being as affectionate as he dared to be in public. "He won't be very far away. But if you'd like, in a few more years…" He coughed and trailed off, somewhat uncomfortable with the topic. A light shade of pink darkened his cheeks.

Italy smiled and wiggled closer to the German. "A few more years… Ve~ It might be nice to have some time to ourselves, _si_?"

"Ja," agreed Germany.

* * *

><p>End<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Berlin<strong>, Germany - Friedrich Nickolaus Beilschmidt - The youngest child of Germany and Italy, also their only son. Blond hair and blue eyes.  
>Did you know: Berlin was once Prussia's capital. It's also in east Germany, thus his year spent with Prussia.<p>

**Saxony**, Germany - Sofia Wilhelmina Beilschmidt - The middle child of Germany and Italy. Brown hair and eyes.  
>Originally she was going to be Bavaria, but apparently there already is a Bavaria... so she became Saxony.<p>

**Sardinia,** Italy - Dafne Juliane Beilschmidt - The oldest child of Germany and Italy. Straight blonde hair and amber eyes. Hair curl on her left side.

The blue bird - Frieden - Friedrich's bird companion, earned during his year with Prussia (of course).

**Vienna,** Austria - Athala Katarina Edelstein - The only child of Austria and Hungary. Long black (actually really dark brown) hair and purple-red eyes.  
>Probably the character I've changed the most since I first created her.<p>

* * *

><p>Also, I've decided to take some story requests. If you're interested, check out my profile. I've got the links to two places I've posted my guidelines right at the top.<p> 


	2. 2 Lunch with the CarriedoVargas Family

**Tomatoes and Pasta and Wurst**

_2. Lunch_

Lunch was possibly Spain's favorite part of the day. It came after the morning chores of puttering around in the gardens, pulling weeds and plucking plump, ripe tomatoes, and cleaning up around the house. Lunch meant he got to escape to the coolness of the house with his beloved family and cook a delicious meal. Lunch meant listening to Romano's almost sleepy complaints, reminding him that it was almost time for a siesta. Lunch meant keeping his beautiful daughter away from the stove and from carrying anything, else she hurt herself with clumsiness. (She was usually sent to the table to sit next to her papa and chop tomatoes and various other things.) Lunch meant having a nice conversation with his son as they moved around, helping each other cook the meal to perfection.

"Mama, I finished cutting the lettuce!"

Spain beamed, moving quickly to the table to retrieve it so she wouldn't have to stand. "Ah, _gracias_, Carmen!"

Carmen, otherwise known as Barcelona, most definitely got her looks from her charming mama. With her thick, curly brown hair and happy green eyes, Spain sometimes wondered if there was any of his darling Romano in her. It wasn't until she hit what he supposed was her full height and yet her clumsiness didn't fade away that he began to see it more. She had a hard time cooking and cleaning, though it wasn't for a lack of trying. Food ended up burnt. Shelves were knocked over. Once he found her buried under a pile of laundry she'd been trying to hang out to dry.

Strangely, all hints of her ineptitude vanished when she was dancing. She held all the grace in the world as she danced, never once stumbling or falling. And in the garden she found no difficulty in pulling weeds or tilling up the earth when planting season arrived. Her carnations were some of the best in the area.

"Mama, the sauce is boiling."

Spain whisked away the lettuce and set it on the counter before dipping a spoon into a creamy sauce bubbling on the stove. He stirred it quickly and then cut down the heat. "How's the pasta, Fiore?"

"Almost done," replied his son. "Oi, a bunch of lettuce doesn't make a salad!"

Chuckling, Spain gathered a large bowl, another plate, and various vegetables and leafy greens so he could have Carmen mix the rest of the salad. He set down everything on the table before her, stopping to kiss Romano on the cheek before heading back to the counter to retrieve the lettuce, wondering why he'd moved it in the first place.

Fiore was the personification of the island of Sicily and so very like Romano that Spain wanted to scoop him up and cuddle him at the most random of times. He was just too cute! Of course, that usually led to a pouting Carmen jumping on him and demanding to be cuddled as well.

Romano just laughed at them. Not in a mean, condescending way. It was more of a my-family-is-crazy-but-I-love-them-anyway sort of laugh. He'd then corner Spain later, once the kids were off doing something, and demand to have his own cuddle time, though that usually led to something else.

"Damn water!" Fiore cursed, jerking his hand away from the pot of pasta.

Spain smiled, unbothered by the language.

His son had inherited Romano's looks. With straight dark brown hair and that strange curl sticking out on his right side, the only way he didn't resemble his papa was his eyes. They were green, just like Carmen's. He was a little taller too, though not as tall as Spain.

Personality-wise, Spain would have to say that Fiore took after Romano, foul temper and all, while Carmen took after him. He hoped she hadn't gotten his possessive streak. So far, it hadn't shown up, which he took as a good sign.

Soon, the pasta was done and covered in the home-made sauce before being placed in the middle of the table. Carmen's tossed salad was there too, as well as a large plate of sliced tomatoes, primarily for Romano and Fiore to enjoy. They bowed their heads as Romano led them in a brief prayer and then dug into the food with gusto.

Carmen laughed as she battled with her papa for the first helping of pasta. Fiore cursed up a storm when his sister flung a bit of food in his face on accident. Romano eventually gave in and snagged a few slices of tomato. Spain watched his family with laughter in his eyes.

He loved lunch time.

* * *

><p>End<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Barcelona<strong>, Spain - Carmen Esmerelda Carriedo - Possibly the older twin, though I haven't quite decided. Curly brown hair, reaches mid-back and green eyes.  
>I picked Barcelona over Madrid mostly because it sounds cuter. And I didn't want all of the kids to be capitals. (Edit 414/11: Okay, Barcelona _is _a capital. It's just not THE capital. Barcelona is the capital of Catalonia, which is a region in northern Spain, right beside France. So Carmen should probably be Catalonia rather than just Barcelona. Still, I don't think I'll change it.)

**Sicily**, Italy - Fiore Leonardo Carriedo - May be the younger twin? - brown hair with a curl on his right side, green eyes.

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><p>To the anonymous review who pointed out in the previous chapter that Sardinia is part of southern Italy, I'd like to thank you for pointing that out. However, I was already aware of that. There's a reason I chose Sardinia for Dafne. (Please point out anything else you don't think is right. I do have a tendency to make really stupid mistakes.)<p> 


	3. 3 Mafia

**Tomatoes and Pasta and Wurst**

_3. Mafia_

Dafne cursed as she threw her shoulder against a metal door, slamming it back against the brick wall of an alley. Her other arm was wrapped securely around a disoriented Fiore, who was clutching his side to help stem the flow of blood spilling onto his clothes. She roughly shoved him to the wall, not bothering to check if he clung to it for support before she turned around and kicked the door shut.

Frantic amber eyes darted around for something to block the path of their pursuers, but all she spotted was a large dumpster, which was far too heavy for her to lift.

"_We'll run,"_ Fiore choked out in Italian, leaning heavily on the brick wall. _"Come on."_

"_They'll catch up,"_ replied Dafne. _"You're hurt. We won't be fast enough. I'll fight them."_

Fiore's green eyes flashed in frustration. _"Like hell! Look at you! You're trembling already! And I won't be able to fucking do anything to help you! Lets get the hell out of here and deal with them later!"_

"_It's too late. They'll see us."_

"_We have to try!"_

Too late.

The door slammed open, revealing a group of men loaded down with guns. Their cold eyes immediately focused on the personified Italian islands.

Dafne cursed in Italian as she grabbed Fiore by the arm and swung him around the dumpster, using it to shield both of them. A small, German-made pistol appeared in her small hands as bullets began firing around them.

"_Get the hell out of here," _Fiore commanded.

Dafne replied in rough German. As she slid down the dumpster, cautiously trying to look around the corner of it and find out the exact positions of the men. _"I'm not leaving without you. We stick together, remember. Islands of Southern Italy." _She held out her hand towards him, her amber eyes daring him to refuse.

Fiore grasped her hand with his unbloodied one. _"Islands of Southern Italy."_

"_I'll get us out of here. I promise."_

Fiore's eyes widened as Dafne released his hand and ducked out from behind the dumpster. _"__**Sardinia!**__"_

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<br>_

Spain hovered over Fiore worryingly, poking and prodding at him in various places, testing for pain. Romano stood back, his arms crossed over his chest, looking bored out of his mind.

"Damn it, mom! I'm fine!" Fiore snapped, finally stepping away as Spain's hands strayed close to his ribs. "It's just a broken arm! It'll heal in a few weeks!"

"But how did this happen, _mi tomate_?" Spain fretted. He reached out, wanting to continue checking over his son for other injuries. Fortunately for Fiore, Carmen chose that moment to dance though the room, humming a cheerful song.

"Mama! Papa! I just got the greatest idea for the fiesta!" Carmen said excitedly. She reached out and took Spain's hand, pulling his attention away from Fiore. "Come hear it! I'm telling Uncle Germany and Uncle Italy too!"

Fiore was both thankful and resentful that Carmen could capture the attention of their mama so easily. He stared at their backs angrily, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't notice his papa's thoughtful look before he too followed after the father-daughter pair.

He stood there in the kitchen, staring at the space his family occupied mere seconds before. There he was, clearly injured, and they would rather listen to Carmen babble on about her ideas for some fiesta? It wasn't much of a surprise to him. He knew Carmen was the favorite one. The sweet one who did nothing wrong. The one who brought much joy into their lives with her bubbly, always-happy personality.

He was the grumpy one. The one who complained about the simplest of things. The one who swore like a sailor when anything went wrong and closed himself off to the rest of the world. There were days he felt only Dafne could really understand him, but others when he wanted nothing more than to scream at her and scare her away because she was just _so damn clueless._

"Ve~ Fiore?"

Fiore narrowed his eyes at his fair-haired cousin, her mere presence annoying him. "What?"

Dafne worried her lower lip, her doe-like eyes meeting his without hesitance. "Are you okay? You don't want to hear Carmen's ideas?"

"No I don't!" Fiore snapped. "Leave me alone! Just go out there with everyone else and have fun!"

Dafne hesitated, torn between wanting to stay and talk to her cousin or spent time laughing with the rest of the family. After a few seconds, she planted her feet firmly on the linoleum and her fidgeting ceased. "Does it hurt?"

"Does _what_ hurt?"

Dafne sighed impatiently, knowing better than to try and get him to talk honestly about how he felt, whether it dealt with emotions or aches and pains. She quickly walked forward and grasped his shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong as she led him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom, where they could have a little privacy.

Ignoring his protests, she pulled up the bottom of his shirt so she could get a good look at his side. She tsk'd when she saw how much blood had soaked through the once-white bandages. "Have you even bothered taking care of this?"

Fiore tried to smack her hands away, but found himself too weak to do so. He hated the idea of hurting a girl, even if she was half German.

Dafne rolled her eyes. "I'm guessing that's a 'no'. Where's your first aid kit? All of this needs changed. You know, just because we're us doesn't mean we're immune to infection."

"I know."

Dafne searched the cabinets and quickly found a well-stocked first aid box. Nimble fingers picked out a roll of bandages and disinfectant, as well as a small pair of scissors and a pin to keep the cloth in place. She set everything except the scissors aside and began cutting off the old bandage before Fiore could stop her.

"_Ow_, dammit! That fucking hurts!"

"If you would take care of it this wouldn't hurt so bad," Dafne replied. "Good thing I took the bullet out myself, or else it would still be in there!"

"Quiet!" Fiore hissed. "Do you want everyone to hear?"

Dafne sighed as she ripped away the stained cloth, eliciting a yelp and then a whimper of pain from her cousin. She tossed aside the dirty bandage and began poking and prodding at the wound. "They're busy listening to Barcelona. They won't hear us in here."

"So you'd think," Fiore grumbled. He wearily eyed the bottle of disinfectant as Dafne picked it up. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Clean the wound."

"God damn it! Use soap and water first, you sadistic German bitch!"

"Ve~ You're right!"

Fiore glared at her as she retrieved a wash cloth and bar of soap from under the sink. He wanted nothing more than to shove her out of the room and take care of the wound himself, but knew that it would be far easier to let her take care of it for him. He cautiously unbuttoned his shirt and, after struggling to get his cast through the sleeve, let it fall to the floor.

Humming, Dafne wet down the wash cloth and lathered it up with soap before turning back to Fiore. She gently washed away the dried blood around the wound first and then pressed it right against the bullet hole.

Fiore flinched violently, a tsunami of harsh curses spilling from his lips. He closed his eyes as tears welled up and threatened to spill down his cheeks.

Dafne continued cleaning, knowing better than to pay much attention to his words. Once she was done, she thoroughly rinsed out the wash cloth and set it aside. Her next objective was to soak a thick piece of cotton with disinfectant and then turn it and press it right to the wound. She ignored his wiggling around and quickly grabbed the roll of bandage on the counter and began wrapping it around him, making sure it was tight enough to protect the wound, but not so tight that it caused him pain to breathe. She pinned it in place when she was done and then stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

"All bandaged. It should heal up better now."

"Still fucking hurts," muttered Fiore. He stiffly leaned over and picked up his shirt. He struggled with putting it back on using only one hand, nearly giving up and throwing it down when he had trouble fitting the loose sleeve around his cast. At last he succeeded on his own and let Dafne take over with buttoning it back up.

"Ve~ All done," chirped Dafne happily. "Lets go see if Carmen's still talking!" She took his hand and pulled him towards the door, using her free hand to open it. She froze suddenly, her amber eyes flying open when she noticed who was on the other side.

Romano stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and his darker amber eyes narrowed. "Sardinia. Sicily. I think you have some explaining to do."

"Papa, it's nothing," Fiore said.

"Bullshit," Romano snapped. He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and pushed Dafne aside so he could yank up his son's shirt and see the bandage for himself. "What the fuck have you two _moron's _been doing? I know you didn't do this falling out of a tree. That's a stupid cover story."

Fiore squirmed under his dad's glare. "I-I- um…"

"It's nothing," Dafne said.

"Shut the hell up," Romano growled. "Fiore, _how did this happen?_"

Fiore continued to fidget, not knowing what to say. He glanced at Dafne, who had her back pressed against the sink counter and was trying not to say anything. After a few excruciatingly long seconds, he looked back at his papa. "I'm sorry."

Romano's mouth pressed into a thin line as he looked between the two islands. "Dafne, tell me what you've been doing or I'll go get my brother and the potato-bastard."

"We just wanted to help!" Dafne blurted.

"Dafne, no!" Fiore hissed.

The fair-haired Italian island continued, her voice growing more frantic. "We thought that maybe if we helped then they'd leave you alone! And it started out okay! I mean, they don't really mind us here in Italy but then we went over to America-"

"_They_ who?" Romano interrupted. "Not…" He narrowed his eyes at his son. "_Fiore Leonardo Carriedo_, you had better not be involved with the fucking mafia! And you involved your cousin in it too?"

"I volunteered," Dafne said quickly.

Romano turned his glare to her. "That's even worse! What the hell were you two thinking? And why the fuck did you go to America?"

The two began speaking at the same time.

"London was complaining about how her dad has been having a hard time with the mob-"

"We just wanted to make it so you wouldn't have to deal with them. I kept hearing you complain about the mafia to mama-"

"-so we figured we'd fly over there and see what we could do-"

"-when I was younger and then I mentioned it to Dafne and she agreed-"

"-but they didn't really welcome us over there at all. We figured that out pretty quickly though and tried to get out of there-"

"-and since the mafia (unfortunately) originated in Sicily then I figured it was sort of my job to take over with dealing with them-"

"-but then-"

"_ENOUGH!" _Romano roared.

The pair of islands immediately fell silent.

"You morons…you… _God…_" Romano's voice cracked as he stepped forward and pulled Fiore into a hug. "Damn it. You're so stupid. Both of you." His muttering switched from Italian to broken Spanish as he continued, holding his son close.

"Ve~ So sweet!" Dafne cooed happily. "I want a hug too!"

She easily joined the hug-fest, her slim frame allowing her to slip between them. Romano changed his hold to make more room for her. Fiore grumbled in displeasure, but didn't try to move away.

"I'm going with you next time," Romano said, leaving no room for argument. "I've been dealing with those bastards for years. You'll need my help."

Neither Dafne nor Fiore dared to disagree.

.

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><p>End<p>

* * *

><p>.<p>

_This_ is why I chose Sardinia for Dafne. (She's not an Itacest baby, btw. Maybe Seborga...which would explain why his curl is kind of bent. He _will not_ be in TRG. [Actually, I think the only fanfic I've mentioned him in is "Letters from Matthew". I referred to him as "Marco".])

Also, I'm taking **story requests** right now. Check my profile for guidelines.

Dafne Beilschmidt - Sardinia, Italy

Fiore Carriedo - Sicily, Italy

Carmen Carriedo - Barcelona, Spain


	4. 4 Pets

**Tomatoes and Pasta and Wurst**

4. Pets

"_Romano~ Look what I found!"_

_The Italian in question turned around and came face-to-face with a tiny, wiggling turtle. He stared at it blankly for a moment. "Spain…"_

_Uncertainty flickered across the Nation's face as he pulled the turtle away from his lover. _

"_You damned idiot! What are you doing with a turtle! Where the hell did you get it!" From there, Romano splintered off into rapid Italian while Spain stood there smiling. When he finally finished, Spain held up the turtle in a hopeful manner._

"_So can we keep him?"_

"_I'm not taking care of it."_

"_Thanks, Romano~"_

"_Get off me, bastard!"_

* * *

><p>Romano looked from his daughter to the large bird in her arms.<p>

Daughter.

Bird.

Daughter.

Bird.

Daughter.

"Carmen," he began slowly, gritting his teeth together and fighting every once of his being to not shout at her. It wasn't her fault she mostly had her mama's genes. "Where the fuck did you get a heron?"

Carmen laughed, her green eyes twinkling merrily, just like another Spaniard he loved. "Isn't he cute? I named him _Cielo_!"

Romano backed up as the bird stretched out it's long neck and tried to peck him. "Yeah…cute. Go show your mama."

"Yay! I knew you'd like him!" Carmen whirled around, her curly brown hair bouncing wildly as she did so. "Mama! Mama! Papa says I can keep him!"

Romano could hear Spain laughing in the other room.

"I knew he would! Romano has a soft spot for cute things~"

Romano blushed deep red. "I do not! And I'm not taking care of that damn bird! Do you hear me, Carmen?"

"_Si, papa!"_

And so, there came to be a new addition to the Carriedo-Vargas household.

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><p>End<p>

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><p>Slowly getting back into writing stuff for <em>The Rising Generation<em>. Thought of this the other day. Originally, Carmen was going to bring home a goat, but I figured I'd better look up what kind of animals are specific to Catalonia and ended up changing it to a heron. (It was almost a monk parakeet, but I felt the heron had more of a WTF factor.)

Eventually I will get around to writing about Athala. Eventually...

Oh, and _cielo_ is Spanish for "Sky". (According to google translate... maybe I should've checked my English-Spanish dictionary instead.)


End file.
